On Not Being “Prophetic”

Frequently
I am invited to add my name as an endorser of a position paper on some topic of
public concern: Often it is a statement by an interfaith group advocating for
more aggressive efforts to find peaceful solutions to the conflicts in
the Middle East, or a network of evangelicals expressing concern about
something going on in the larger culture. I always read the statement in
question over carefully before agreeing to add my name. And when I decide not
to sign it, it often has to do with my impression that the group making the
declaration is trying too hard to be “prophetic.”

In my early days of social activism
I talked a lot about being “prophetic.” I don’t use that word much these days.
When I use the word at all, I am typically quoting other people, or discussing
biblical “prophetic” literature, or arguing with my Mormon friends about
whether the prophetic office has been restored in the current age.

A cynic might suggest that I have
steered away from “prophetic” stances because I have had the duty, as a
seminary president, to raise money in circles where being “prophetic” does not
attract donors with considerable giving capacity. I have tried to stay honest
with myself about that possibility. I do know that I have what I consider to be
some plausible theological reasons for avoiding thinking of myself as engaged
in “prophetic” activity.

In ancient Israel there was often a tension between the
prophets on the one hand and the kings and priests on the other. In my theology,
the three “offices”prophet, priest and kingwere finally brought together in
the person of Jesus Christ. As his followers, we are obligated to try to keep
them together in our own lives: being prophetic, which certainly includes
speaking on behalf of what we understand to be God’s will for humankind, must
be connected to a priestly identification with people’s actual hopes and fears,
as well as to a commitment to a “rulerly” desire to make things happen in ways
that are practical and fair.

At least we ought to strive for this
kind of integration as much as possible. I don’t question that there are
moments in historyNazi Germany is an obvious case in pointwhen we have no
choice but to utter unqualified prophetic verdicts, to proclaim a bold “No!” to
a specific state of affairs, even if in doing so we are voices crying in the
wilderness. But outside of those extreme situations I see it as dangerous to
see ourselves as simply being prophetic.

On a more practical level, I
also have come to see the need to emphasize the public importance of the teaching role. The task of teaching
requires more from us than, for example, simply announcing our political
preferences. Those of us who get paid to teach courses know that when we plan
an introductory course in some important area of the intellectual life, we do
not say everything we know in the first lecture. Students need to be invited
into an exploration of new and/or difficult subject matter, and they need to be
instructed in the basics before getting into the complexities. Good teaching
does not consist simply in saying true things, but in leading people into the
truth, even if that takes some time. And much can be gained by emphasizing,
wherever possible, the continuity between the new areas of learning with what
students already are convinced of.

And classroom teachers even need to
be a little careful with the idea of “leading people into the truth.” We are
all learners. Some of the best courses I have taught have been ones where I
came away with the sense that I learned as much asmaybe even more thanmy
students in the process.

Much the same can be said, I think,
for the public teaching roleas exercised by pastors, denominational officials,
lay leaders, and the like. Our public pedagogy requires a measure of empathy
and reassurance toward those whom we want to influenceas well as a humble
recognition that we ourselves are learners.

Such characteristics are often missing in those Christians
who emphasize the need for “prophetic” statements on various topics. I worry that
too much of an emphasis on the prophetic role leads to the neglect of the
teaching office. If our goal is simply to say a lot of true things, then we can
take comfort in the fact that we have performed our prophetic responsibilities
when we issue straightforward public statements that come off as critical, say,
of the concerns of many other Christians. But if our assignment is to teach the
truth, then we have a more difficultand more highly nuancedtask.

I learned a marvelous phrase from
the Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder. We are living, he liked to say, in
a phase of redemptive history that is “the time of God’s patience” with a
sinful world. That does not mean passive withdrawal from the urgent issues that
confront humankind. But it does mean that as much as possible we must not adopt
a posture of addressing the urgent issues “from above,” but rather by taking a
place in the midst of other people of faith, and indeed in the midst of the
larger human community, in order to work with others to clarify the questions
and look for the kinds of solutions that promote human flourishing.

Richard J. Mouw is president emeritus of Fuller Theological Seminary.

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